


Artistic Fulfillment

by eveninganna



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveninganna/pseuds/eveninganna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rachel paints, Nico cooks, and Rachel has an epiphany concerning her feelings for Nico.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistic Fulfillment

**Author's Note:**

> Just another little Rachel/Nico, as I love their fandom-created dynamic, even when it simply applies to little things like the following in this fic.

_I never thought I could love anyone but myself_  
Now I know I can't love anyone but you  
You make me think that maybe I won't die alone  
Maybe I won't die alone

\- **Die Alone** , Ingrid Michaelson

**-o-**

"I thought we'd agreed on this, di Angelo," Rachel said, the hand holding a blue tipped paint brush in the air. "You cook, I paint."

"See, the problem with that, is that although it may be a great arrangement for you," Nico said, looking up from the pot he was stirring in. "It is lacking reciprocaty."

"Oh, big word," Rachel said, continuing to paint the canvas. "What do you mean, Shakespeare?"

"What I mean," he said, continuing to stir the pot, "is that your painting does absolutely nothing for me, while my cooking does wonders for you."

Rachel frowned. "What do you mean, it does nothing for you?" she demanded. "What about artistic fulfillment?"

"Isn't artisitic fulfillment for the artist?" Nico asked.

"Perhaps," Rachel allowed. "Look, Nico, do you think Van Gogh had a Italian demigod cooking food for him while he painted Starry Night?" she asked, one hand on her hip, the hand holding the paint brush still in the air. "No. He did not. Which is why he cut off his ear." She went back to painting.

"Okay," Nico said. "Still not sure how this has anything to do with us, but I can tell you're about to crack just like Van Gogh, so I won't push it."

"Nico!" Rachel exclaimed. "It had everything to do with us!" she skipped across the newspapers she'd set out on the wood floor of her living room, arriving in the kitchen successfully without getting paint anywhere unwanted. When Nico had come over, telling her he was going to be cooking for her again, she immediately moved her work in progress to the living room, so she could talk to him while they both prepared their own forms of art.

"How, exactly?" he asked, looking up to take in her curly red hair in a sloppy ponytail, the ends of her jeans rolled up, her baggy t-shirt. 

"You, my Italian demigod, cook for me so that I don't go completely insane and cut off my ear! Or- or shoot myself, like Van Gogh!" she exclaimed. "You're what Vang Gogh didn't have, and, frankly, needed." She wrinkled her nose. "Anyways, you're much better company than a prostitute."

"Well, I try," Nico said, continuing to stir the pot. 

"I don't think you understand, Nico," Rachel said, leaning on the counter of the kitchen. "You're like the Diego Rivera to my Frida Kahlo."

Nico looked up, eyebrows scrunched together as if deep in thought. "Didn't he cheat on her?" Nico said. "Like, repeatedly?"

"Pish posh," Rachel said with a wave of her hand. "They remarried before she died. But that's not the point!" she exclaimed, slamming her hand down on the counter, causing Nico to turn around slightly, an amused look on his face. "The point is, di Angelo, that without you and your recipes that come out of no where I'd just be a crazy artist, starving in my gigantic apartment."

"Are you trying to thank me, Dare?" Nico asked, glancing over again.

"No!" she said quickly - too quickly. "I'm - I'm trying to tell you that...."

What she was trying to tell him is that she knows that he smiles more when she's around, and she smiles more when he's around too. She wanted to tell him that she doesn't feel so boring when he's there, and like the only reason she matters is because she's the Oracle. She wanted to tell him that she thinks he's sweet and caring and misunderstood and handsome. She wants to tell him that he's the only person she's ever wanted to say these kinds of things to. She wanted to tell him that she wants to know what that glimpse he gives her is everytime he laughs at her for something or other; that glimpse that only lasts for a second, but then he turns away, and it's gone.

She wanted to tell him that she wishes she could tell him all these things, but she can't. She wanted to tell him that ever since the beginning of what is their relationship, she's felt hopeful that maybe, possibly, she won't be the Oracle forever.

She wanted to tell him that she thinks she's in - 

"Rachel?" Nico asked, looking staight at her in that way that makes her stomach churn. "What are you trying to tell me?"

So she ignored everything that she wanted to say to him, and instead she said, "What I'm trying to say is that you need to hurry up," she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "All this artisitic fulfillment and such has left me famished." 

And he just smirked, and came up with a snarky reply as always. 

And she just wanted to tell him that she loves him because he's the only person she's ever met who can come up  
with a witty comeback like that. 

And maybe she will tell him. 

Someday.


End file.
